The restaurant is small and warm and smells like garlic and candle wax and fresh bread, and when we walk in the host knows Tyler by name which makes me raise an eyebrow.
“My parents come here a lot,” he says, slightly embarrassed. “I may have called ahead.”
“You called ahead.”
“I wanted to make sure we got a good table.”
We get a corner table with a candle between us and a window looking out onto the lit street and Tyler pulls out my chair and I sit and look around at the checkered tablecloths and the wine bottles on the shelves and the couples at other tables leaning toward each other.
The waiter brings bread and Tyler orders wine without making it a production and when the waiter leaves he looks at me across the candle and smiles.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay,” I say.
“I’ve been tr
